The Fifth Night
by avrilxiv
Summary: A kmeme fill from a few months back. Sebastian Vael, Marian Hawke. PWP. "I think I need to pray. A lot."


It's been four nights since Allure's wicked fingers snaked into his mind and read his most intimate thoughts like open scripture. She laid bare his true desire to take the seat of Starkhaven; his covetous nature having been stowed far away in the recesses of his mind for years. But there was another desire, another secret that she thankfully left unspoken. He tried to deny it himself, knowing that lusting after someone in such a way was a futile pursuit now, given his station. But the demon unearthed it all and brought those wicked thoughts to the fore, and now, four nights later, he can think of little else.

Hawke comes to him in his dreams, mostly; she sneaks upon him when he's at his most unguarded. At first, she's rather modest and subdued, satisfied with a passionate kiss or several well-placed caresses. But, as the dreams come more frequently, she grows more wild, more wanton. She whispers things to him that would have caught even him off-guard in his younger, reckless days. She's all soft hands and husky voice, eager mouth and wet cunt. And each time, he wakes up with himself in hand, desperate for satiation.

And on this, the fifth night since the encounter with Allure, Hawke stands before him and utters those words. _"I can think of a few _services_ for you to perform…"_He pinches his arm behind his back, the formerly stark line between the Hawke of his subconscious and she of the awakened world becoming suddenly blurred. He starts to grow hard almost instantly, his body enticed and used to hearing her voice whisper much more lascivious words to him when he dreams of her. He awkwardly brushes her flirtation aside, distracted by the way his cock begins to twitch between his legs. He manages to excuse himself, and she walks away, shaking her head.

Sebastian makes a beeline for the small clutch of pews just outside the men's dormitory. The Chantry is almost empty, vespers having ended twenty minutes prior. The only souls still left are the initiates, and it will only be a few minutes before they finish extinguishing all the candles in the nave and turn in to their quarters for the night. The men's dormitory is silent, Sebastian being the only Brother in residence now.

He takes a seat in one of the pews, letting out a frustrated breath as he does. His groin still aches with arousal, but he forces himself to ignore it, determined to absolve himself through prayer.

He leans forward and rests his forearms on the back of the pew before him, and clasps his hands together. He bows his head and closes his eyes.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

He takes a deep breath, waiting for the words of Benedictions to wash over him as a calming wave. Yet, his smalls continue to tighten as his erection strains within them. He exhales shakily and continues.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written."

As Sebastian sits, visions of Hawke appear behind his tightly closed eyes. She murmurs more flirtations and suggestions to him, and she slowly begins to remove the rogue armour that she wears. Sebastian swallows hard, his throat impossibly dry, and he launches into another refrain of Benedictions.

But it's no longer his own voice that he hears as he speaks; it's hers. She whispers the verse to him, and he can almost feel her breath, warm and soft at his ear. His cock is so hard that it's nearly painful, and wholly unbearable.

He huffs out another frustrated sigh, and lets his right hand slowly drift down to the bulge in his trousers. He chastises himself for being this wicked, out in the open of the Chantry no less. But he knows the main hall is now empty, and Maker forgive him, but he needs this relief.

He undoes the buckle of his belt, and is thankful to be dressed in plain clothes, able to avoid snaking his hand past the face of Andraste. He leans back slightly and pulls his cock from his trousers, then braces himself forward again with his left forearm still on the pew in front.

He starts slowly, moving his hand up and down his shaft at an almost exploratory pace, though this really no longer feels so foreign to him. Not after the past nights of fretful sleep.

Before long, he's no longer satisfied with the slow movements – he needs more. He passes his thumb over the swollen tip of his cock, catching the pre-cum that sit there, and he chokes back a low groan. His eyes screw shut tighter as a wave of pleasure washes over him. He passes his thumb over the tip again, and then draws the wetness down his shaft. He works himself eagerly, this time twisting his wrist as he does, and he feels himself being wound tighter and tighter with each stroke.

Hawke is still before him, behind his closed eyes. She's naked now, her large, supple breasts cupped between her own hands, and he wonders how it would feel to pump his cock between them. He hisses out the breath he's been holding at the thought, and tightens his grip on himself, in an attempt to replicate the feeling. Another restrained moan escapes him.

Then, he thinks he hears a faint rustling behind him, but he's too lost in himself to completely register the sound. A few seconds pass, and another quiet noise comes again, this time just over his left shoulder.

He freezes, as horror passes over him. He stays hunched forward for a brief moment, and then turns his head to the left.

And he has to blink several times, thoroughly confused.

"H-Hawke?" he sputters. "I…" His cheeks are aflame now.

Hawke passes her eyes over his entire form, and cocks an eyebrow at him when she meets his eyes again. "I had forgotten to ask earlier whether you would be available for a pre-dawn trek up the Wounded Coast tomorrow. Seems the Qunari have misplaced a patrol."

Sebastian stares at Hawke, his mouth open slightly. He's lost for words and mortified, completely.

And then Hawke gives a throaty little chuckle as a small lopsided smile crosses her lips. "But I dare say I'd rather talk about all that later."

"S-Sorry?" It's all he has time to say before she's glancing over her shoulder and moving into the pew next to him. "Hawke, what are you–?"

She hushes him then, and reaches to move his left arm out of her way. He obliges, fully confounded, and watches with widened eyes as she moves in front of him to stand between his spread knees.

He opens his mouth again to question, to protest, but he has no words. She bends down and catches his lips with hers. She's not gentle, and obviously in no mood to ease him into what she plans to do. She doesn't seek his tongue, however; she only puts her hands to either side of his face and kisses him forcefully, working his lips between her own.

When Hawke pulls away, he's short of breath and hard all over again. She lowers herself further, leaning back on her haunches and she brushes his hand away from his cock, where it's lingered since she interrupted him. She puts her hands on his knees and slowly moves her hands up his thighs, massaging the well-formed muscles there. She holds his eyes the entire time.

He knows what she's going to do now; some faint part of his conscience is demanding that he stop her, but he chooses not to listen to its protestations. Not now, not when she's _right there_.

Hawke takes Sebastian's engorged cock in hand, and caresses it for a moment. Then she leans forward and runs her tongue in a circle around the tip. Sebastian grunts and screws his eyes shut and braces himself against the pew in front, his knuckles slowly turning white under his grip. She passes over the head of his cock twice more, and then runs her broad tongue down the side of his shaft. She's massaging the inside of his right thigh, just inches from his balls, and his muscles tighten at the sensation. She works his length with her other hand, up and down, and her hot mouth follows closely behind. Sebastian bites his lower lip to hold back a moan, and he delves a hand into Hawke's hair at the back of her head. He follows her bobbing movement, and resists the urge to fuck her mouth. Her tongue is all over him, on all sides of his cock, and when she draws it upwards along the underside, pressing against the vein there, he buckles forward, his forehead coming to rest on her shoulder.

It won't be long for him now, he knows. All sense of apprehension is gone from his mind, and he needs to finish inside her, as deep as possible.

He takes her by the shoulders and pulls her up. He shoves a hand under her skirt, and he can feel that she's soaked through her smalls. He pulls them down and away, and then strokes her folds. He knows she's ready for him, but he delves two fingers into her anyway, and he groans; she whimpers and drives her hips against his hand.

"I need this," he mutters breathlessly as he strokes her from inside. "I need to be in you, finally."

Hawke needs no more encouragement. She places a knee on the pew along the outside of Sebastian's thigh and straddles him. He reaches for her face and kisses her roughly, rolling her tongue over his own. They both gasp in unison, mouths still connected, as she slowly lowers herself onto his cock. She draws back slightly for leverage and pulls on his lower lip with her teeth as she does.

Sebastian takes Hawke by the hips and guides her movements around him. He thrusts into her, and she grinds down onto him in return. He's incapable of thought beyond, _this_ and _yes_ and _holy Maker_. She mewls above him and her nails dig into the back of his neck and he can feel her begin to tighten around him. He grunts at the pressure of her, and he tries to keep his climax at bay for just a moment longer.

He puts his thumb up to her lips and she takes it into her mouth readily, working her tongue over it. He drags her lower lip down a little on the way out, and then puts his moistened thumb to her clit. He grinds his thumb into her and she bucks into his hand; she succumbs to the pleasure, bending forward at the waist, until their foreheads touch.

Sebastian feels Hawke come around his cock, and he knows by her shuddered, breathy moan that were they not out in the open, she would be crying out.

The feeling of her quaking around him is what ends him, though, and she continues to ride him through his orgasm, drawing it out as long as possible. He gives a final, forceful thrust, and then lets his head fall back against the pew, exhaling loudly.

All his body can manage is to try to catch his breath. Hawke chuckles softly and places a small kiss to his chin.

He begins to soften inside her, but she doesn't move away from him just yet.

"So you'll come to the Wounded Coast in the morning?" she whispers in his ear.

"Aye," he replies with a contented sigh. "But first, a proper night's sleep."


End file.
